psmv5: Turk out of Czech

A week or so ago, back to the Kibele in Great Portland Street for a spot of Turkish. Mainly served, as it happens, by a young lady from the Czech republic who was learning Spanish so that she could work the Spanish seaside resorts. She also claimed that the splitting up of Czechoslovakia was entirely peaceful and the two halves remaining good friends. Sadly I didn't manage to bring Simenon's villains from what was then the backwoods of eastern Czechoslovakia into the conversation. 'Maigret et son Mort': I can't remember whether the evil Slovakians feature both in text and on screen, but they certainly do feature in the Atkinson version.

While the building above, snapped just across the road from Great Portland Street would have done very well as the block of flats inhabited by Poirot on ITV3. Known there, I think, as Whitehaven Mansions. While this block has not been improved by what I take to be modern changes: the front doors, the canopy and the black-head poles.

But I get ahead of myself.

Journey to London started with a large lady of middle years, probably of scant education, with music blasting out of her telephone. Eventually she got the ear plugs under control and the music dropped down from blast to burble, which I could cope with. No mask. I wondered whether she was a care worker or something of that sort.

I then wondered about the number of flats that have been built along the railway by Vauxhall in the last the last ten years. Thousands of them? How many of them affordable? Maybe one day I will get around to inquiring.

Bought my cheese and pushed onto Great Portland Street with much less bother than on the occasion noticed at reference 1. Being a little early, time to investigate the church opposite the tube station, the Holy Trinity of reference 2.

Walked right around, finding no open doors, but I did find some leaves which would have done very well for a three year old, had I had one with me. And among all the stalls scattered across what was once the front steps, I found a young lady who explained that it was now an event space. But, sadly, she did not run to letting me in when I observed that the lights were on.

I learned later, this afternoon in fact, that this handsome, Grade I listed building, was built to celebrate the Battle of Waterloo. Presumably by way of a thank you to the Almighty for putting his thumb in the right scale pan. But congregations dwindled and the place became a book warehouse in the 1930's, not much more than a hundred years later. I suppose no-one can work out what to do with it. Would it not be more dignified just to demolish it?

Next stop the Green Man over the road, which we used to visit on Saturday nights when we were students, a little more than fifty years ago now. This turned out to be quite a good line with the barman, who explained that there was a function room downstairs which had been quite a place in its day. Visited by the likes of Mick Jagger. Talk of downstairs brought a lot more memories back, which had been obscured by the completely unfamiliar ground floor bar. Now owned by Greene King.

And so onto the Kibele. Where humus was much improved by the omission of sausage on top. Oddly, considering that the waitress asked if we wanted sausage or not, the sausage had clearly been removed from our humus just before it arrived. Followed in my case by chicken wings, rice and salad. Wings very good, much bigger than the wings we get on chickens. Rice very good too. Salad only marred by a touch too much beetroot and a touch too much dressing. All washed down with a spot of their Turkish wine and a spot of their French Calvados, served as usual in a big glass balanced on a mug of very hot water. All very good. Too full for apple crumble or rice pudding - although for some reason, I am keen to try the latter. Something we hardly ever eat at home, despite it having once been a regular item.

Plus I notice from gmaps that there is a place called the Istanbul café and bistro in the same building at the tube station. Complete with traditional Turkish burgers. Perhaps a place for next time. See reference 4.

Heading off towards Oxford Circus, I passed the synagogue, not very encouraging to visitors. It was Friday, so not a good day, but I don't suppose other days would have been any better. Understandable, but a pity all the same.

Next stop Nicolas, where I took a couple of bottles of something white and French. After that we had the people called Tank. All very hip, but Bing seems unsure whether they are a magazine or a photographic agency. Or perhaps both. I have not studied reference 5 carefully enough to find out.

I was reminded that the buildings occupying the four corners of Oxford Circus are really quite flashy, the shops presently below notwithstanding.

Tube to Vauxhall. Train to Earlsfield. Decided against the Half Way House, but failed at the aeroplane game. Nothing at all. Changed again at Raynes Park where I got a modest haul of books from the platform library, amongst which we had a couple of slim books in Maltese - a first - and the book already noticed at reference 6.

I might add that I have now read the associated thriller from 1982, 'A very British coup', which I did manage, but I did find a bit tiresome. Perhaps it was dated? Perhaps it had all been done elsewhere, too many times since? I decided that we probably had seen the television drama that someone had turned it into at some point in the intervening 40 years. Also that Mullins had a pretty fair idea about how Ministers' offices were organised here in the UK. Also that plenty of people have, over the years, suspected the (extensive) forces of the right and the forces of the security services of playing a rather dirty game at times. Indeed, my understanding was these last were told by the then prime minister, one Margaret Thatcher, to rough up, as it were, the leaders of the miners' strike. Which apart from being quite wrong, was quite unnecessary, given that the miners had chosen their time so badly. On the other hand, I also believe that having people at the centre who can tweak things a bit is a part of the democratic balancing act. One would not want, after all, a deranged Trump to start a war because it looked as if someone was going to publish his tax returns. Or some happy snaps he had taken in a rare moment of weakness.

Arrived at Epsom, I opted for TB rather than the Marquis. Perhaps because it was not so far to walk after. And on the way, ladies football on the all weather pitch at Court Recreation Ground.

No Yellowtail at TB, so I had to settle for Sauvignon Blanc. With the snap above being the bar where I had spent many happy hours in the olden days. Touched up just a little since then. And for those who want it, it looked as if there was warm beer of a sort on offer, not that it looked as if there was likely to be that much demand for it, it having become a bar for young people who don't have much of a taste for that sort of thing.